


The Girl Tsar

by catslikemilkshakes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Established Relationship, F/F, Happy Sex, Historical Inaccuracy, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Religious Conflict, Vaginal Fingering, attempted murder (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 01:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18420375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catslikemilkshakes/pseuds/catslikemilkshakes
Summary: As the sole, legitimate, heir of her late father Mila Babicheva is crowned empress. She has to take charge of her country, fighting against those who oppose her decisions, and keep a close watch on who she can and cannot trust.





	The Girl Tsar

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the NSFW Primadonna zine - a wonderful project featuring the women of YOI. The zine was made to raise awareness for breast cancer, and all proceeds have gone to the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation. This was such an amazing zine for an amazing cause, and I am so happy to have contributed to it!

_ “My Mila of Russia. I implore you to call upon your cleverness! I beseech you, in the name of our Lord! Save your Empire!” _

_ 1652 _

Mila, a bright girl of about seven, rummages through the various dusty drawers of her father’s study. She finds an old pendant with a painted picture of her father and clasps it tightly in her hand. She misses Father and his lullabies and his hugs. “Mila!” Her mother’s shrill call makes her shiver. She slips the pendant in one of the pockets of her dress before making her way down the stairs and into her mother’s room.

The guards and maids stand beside her mother. The guards give her feeble smiles and she nods in return. It is only right to be polite to them. Mother is already lying on the bed, on top of Father, his hands held tightly between her own.  The smell always hits her nose unpleasantly – the stench of death doused in perfumes and oils.

She hovers near the bed. Her mother stares at her expectantly, “Come say goodnight to your father.” She walks until she can climb up the step that allows her to face her father. Her mother’s hand on her head holds Mila in one place. She places a kiss on her father’s cold forehead, muttering a “Good night, Your Majesty. See you tomorrow.”

Her mother lets go of her as the door to the room swings open. Men in feathered hats come down another set of stairs on the opposite side of the room, and her mother’s guards are quick to draw their weapons. “The queen mother refuses to see you!” One of them says but he scurries to the side when he sees the chancellor enter. Mila scurries underneath the bed; managing to still get a good look at the old man from underneath the sheets.

She hears her mother’s indignant voice, “Chancellor, how dare you force your way into my quarters!” The man replies in a neutral tone, “I’ve come to save your daughter from your madness, and to remove the king’s body.”

The queen moves on top of the king’s body, trying to cover it with her black gown. “Not so soon!” she cries. The chancellor laughs, “Soon? He’s been on your bed for two years!” She scrambles over to the other side of the bed, rambling in unintelligible French before producing a glass case. “His heart!” she tries, showing off the dried-up organ to him.  He sneers at her, “Look at that mad, mad woman ... She shows no respect for our King. Go!” He commands and the queen protests.

Mila comes out from underneath the bed to look at her mother. “Ah, Mila! Mila, come…  ” The chancellor urges her to go to him, but so does Mother. She wants to get away from Father, and away from Mother. Her mother sees Mila moving away from her and grabs her, “No, no!” She escapes her mother’s grasp and she’s taken away by the chancellor, away from Mother and away from Father. “Get the body.”

Mila travels in the carriage throughout the night, too excited to fall asleep. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves keep her awake as well, and she sees the sun break the dark sky, starting a new day. The chancellor, Yakov, doesn’t ask her too many questions. Only ones like, “Do you know how to read? How to write?” She answers truthfully, and she can do both of those. She can also speak French and a bit of Latin, along with Russian.

“Good – we’ll get started with your studies as soon as possible.” The next decade is filled with language: learning Latin and Italian; fencing and horse-riding and hunting. She playfights with her cousins and wears boy clothes. She is treated like an equal among her peers. Her friends include her cousin, Georgi, and the chancellor’s son, Viktor.

Georgi is her only equal whilst fencing. He challenges her and forces her to keep up with her training. Today’s match ended with her stepping on his chest and talking down to him. He’d seemed playful then and smiled at her, “I bet you could spend a night with the devil.” She grinned at him, “I  _ want  _ to spend a night with the devil, cousin.”

Admittedly, Georgi is handsome with his hair down and only a few years older. She scoffs; _of course_ he’s seen as a viable suitor for the future empress of Russia. But Mila currently has her sights set on the milky thighs of one of the maids. The chancellor also brings up a marriage between her and Viktor which causes her to laugh for the first time in years.

_ 1663 _

The day of her coronation arrives. The maids help bathe her and clothe her. In the mirror she can see the scar on her back, when looking over her shoulder. A servant had dropped her down the stairs one day. The scar isn’t too noticeable but it is still an angry red, one that almost matches her hair. One maid brushes her hair gently and Mila unexpectedly thinks of her mother.

Her dress is white, contrasting with the red of her hair and the robe she wears is a dark blue. The crown placed on her head sits with a comfortable weight. She closes her eyes fleetingly. She looks up at the crowd before her – her subjects. Her mother is there as well, looking at Mila strangely. She tries not to meet her mother’s gaze.

The banquet is held at the castle. Mila makes her way through the crowds of nobles, smiling and nodding politely; lending an ear to whatever complaints the rich of her country have currently. The chancellor’s been hounding her about her Royal Proclamation speech that night. Her first speech as empress. “Do you realize the importance of this?” She assures him that she does, “I’ve been preparing it since childhood.”

“Father, this is a fine occasion for you to trust her,” Viktor chimes in. Yakov’s lips draw into a thin line. Mila gives her friend a grateful look. “Give Mila a chance to show that you have every reason to be proud of her.”

“Very well. Just know that I’ll have you both take full responsibility,” the chancellor warns. Mila subdues her grin and steps inside the banquet hall. “Her Majesty, Empress Mila!” She is announced and the entire room’s occupants turn to face her. They bow and curtsey. A lone man stands out from the crowd, clothed in fine green and gold. “There she is – Empress Mila! What a wonderful day for this country – for you to sit on the throne!” The Italian man claps and the rest of the people follow suit. Mila waves him off politely, “That’s enough, Michele.  And your... pleasant attire suits you.”

“If it pleases you, your Majesty, I shall take it all off.” Michele is a few years older than her; a trusted acquaintance. He takes her gloved hand in his and kisses it. Mila responds cheekily, “And I’ll take umbrage in that.” The chancellor coughs behind her and they move on to the French ambassador. He is a pleasant and soft-spoken man, but a Catholic nonetheless. They do not talk much before Michele steals her away. “I’ve yet to introduce you to my twin sister, Mila.”

Mila is intrigued – she’s never heard of the Italian’s sister before tonight. The two of them approach a few girls and Michele introduces her. “Your Majesty, my sister, Countess Sara Crispino.” She steps forward, “Your Majesty.” The woman’s eyes are made a purple shade by the light of the surrounding candles. Her dark hair is put up in a braid and pinned to her head, lady-like in contrast to Mila’s fiery, chopped hair. Her lips are a fine red and where her neck meets her collarbone, sun-kissed skin seems to glow. She smiles shyly at her. Sara Crispino is breath-taking. No words can escape her lips.

Mila closes her mouth and try again, “Mila, my lady.” Mila keeps eye-contact with the woman as she lifts Sara’s hand to her lips. The woman smells of honey and cinnamon, and she seems to blush as Mila continues to stare. “It was lovely meeting you, Countess.” The Italian woman curtsies and goes back to the rest of the girls. Mila takes her leave and takes a few deep breaths to calm the blood in her veins. She wanted Sara. Oh, how she wanted.

The band playing is lively, the violins playing merrily as the guests sit down for their dinner. Sara laughs at one of Mickey’s jokes and looks up to see Mila gazing at her. Georgi turns to Mila and she distracts him, “I don’t see my mother.” The chancellor shrugs. “She left some time ago.” Viktor says. “I’m sorry, Mila.”  Mila felt hurt at that. She and her mother didn’t have the best of relationships, and yet ...

“Did you bring my first revolution?” She whispers and Viktor nods. He stands up to signal the start of the first course. The guards enter and make quick work of giving the guests new plates and filling their glasses with a dark red wine. The roast pork and fresh vegetables placed on her table makes Mila’s mouth water. “It’s time.” The chancellor says, and she is encouraged by the men sitting on both sides of her.

“The empress!” The captain of the guard announces. The violins screech to a halt, and the guest stop their chatter. Mila stands up hastily but stops the others from standing up with a show of her hands. The guests look at her expectantly. “Today, I came of age and I solemnly received my father’s crown.”  She gains confidence with each word, praises her father’s bravery when fighting for the glory of Russia. She intended to work like her father, all night and all day, for the glory of Russia.

“I will work to further the teachings of Luther. I’ve inherited a country, full of soldiers and lumberjacks and miners and peasants, from my father. Among the lower classes there is rampant ignorance and illiteracy – scholars are scorned and knowledge is not valued. Curiosity is a great asset, according to a certain French philosopher.” The French ambassador nods wholeheartedly.

She continues, “We will build libraries! Schools, and theatres! And we must welcome the finest of thinkers; those who were banned for their ideas.” Sara watches her, eyes sparkling. A confused murmur spreads where the current scholars sit. “My country must be the most sophisticated in Europe – and I will make it that way. Let us become the new Athens!”

The audience claps and Mila can see the confusion on their faces. She’s worked on her ideas and plans for her country almost her whole life. They may not understand her pursuit of knowledge now, but she knows that they will come around eventually. They are also thinkers, visionaries, like her. “To do that, we must achieve what has been most difficult for this country – peace!” She’s shaking, from nervousness or determination — she isn’t sure. She sits prematurely, and Viktor and Georgi congratulate her on her moving speech. The chancellor scowls at her, lips drawn tightly.

“Peace?” One of the older men spits. She flies out of her seat, “We must end this war with the Holy Roman Empire – it has gone on for too long, and my father had to sacrifice himself.” Another one throws his napkin on the table, “With the Catholics?” Mila balls her fists, “Yes, the road to achieving peace is a difficult one _but_ … ” Peter, one of the roundest scholars, sneers at her, “War for thirty years; thousands of lives lost to ensure the spread of Luther’s faith! This has been our greatest goal, and yet you wish to abandon it?” He goes on but Mila cannot ignore the rush of blood in her ears. “Sit down,” Yakov demands.

“The Catholics will take over while we are asleep, if you are to continue with your foolish thinking! Those in Germany and Rome will return and stab us in the back. We will suffer your father’s fate … !” Yakov speaks again, “Sit down, Mila!” He stands up beside her, “This is Her Majesty, Mila of Russia, and when the empress speaks, she commands!” Mila moves away from her chair and walks around the table.  She stalks down the middle of the two opposing tables, Viktor and the others following close behind. Michele pulls Sara toward them and the siblings join the empress’ following.

Once they are out of the banquet hall, Michele halts in front of Mila, “Wait, wait, wait.” He gets down onto one knee, and Sara glares at him. “I shall protect you, your Majesty. Day and night, I shall love you – marry me!” He proposes and Mila’s nose crinkles in disgust. “I should have known you were just like all the other men in my life, Michele. I have just been crowned and have presented my plans, and you want to be  _ tsar _ ?” She bristles, “The first day of my reign has barely ended – I’ve already received countless proposals.” She lists kings and emperors, her voice shaking. “I will not be made a pawn!”

Michele attempts another argument, “You do not need those kings – you have me. I’ll support all of your revolutions, your plans. Marry me.” She snarls, “No!” Tears form in Michele’s eyes, “We’ve talked about this, Mila. I took you to China … !” His voice breaks. “NO!” she screams, and her eyes are wet, “No. And your trunks can stay unpacked – I am sending you back to Paris.”

He tries to protest but Georgi stops him, “You heard her – that’s enough.” Her cousin’s voice only angers her further as he comes up behind her. She turns to him, “And I’m sending you to the German front.” He gasps and gawks at her. “Do you disagree with my word?” She tests him. Yakov gives a concerned glance at his son. Viktor shakes his head. “We’ll need to show our strength during this peace negotiation. On all fronts.”

“Of course.” She storms out and slams the door. Her lady-in-waiting is stopped by Viktor’s sympathetic, “Let her go.” The room hastily empties and Sara walks over to Michele, “What were you thinking, Mickey? I can’t believe you!” She throws her hands in the air as he gazes at her pathetically. “Let’s go — I’ll accompany you to your room.”

Sara knocks on the door to Mila’s quarters, “I’m sorry that my brother is such a fool, my love.” She hears shuffling in the room and then the door opens to reveal a red eyed Mila. “I am the one who should be apologizing.” She closes the door behind the countess. Sara leads her to the bed and sits next to her. She brushes the damp hair out of Mila’s eyes, and places a kiss on her forehead. Mila wraps her arms around Sara. They stay like that for a few minutes. “I can’t believe that he’d do such a thing.” Michele’s always been impulsive but his display in front of everyone was in poor taste. “Today was long, and everyone pressuring me...” She sighs, “And your brother, acting like he’s doing me a favor. Like I’d ever choose him to be my husband, when he’s not even my first choice.” She grimaces, “Am I being too harsh on him?”

“Not like he doesn’t deserve it.” Sara lets out grumpily, “And here I thought I was your first choice.” Mila sniffs, “You  _ are _ – though I’m not sure why he doesn’t know that we are  _ very _ well acquainted.” She wiggles her eyebrows. Sara pretends to ponder the question, “Maybe I just never told him. You know how brothers are – they don’t take kindly at being outdone by their sisters.” Sara giggles, “Shame on you for getting me all hot and bothered at the banquet. That predatory gaze of yours – only I’m allowed to see it.” Mila pouted, “You’re right – forgive me?”

“Mhm, maybe if you did something for me?” She suggested, licking behind Mila’s ear. Mila shivers involuntarily, “Sara, I imagine Yakov and the others would not be impressed by my frolicking with a Catholic.” Sara whispers into Mila’s ear, “That’s never stopped you before.” She nibbles Mila’s earlobe as slides her hand over the younger woman’s thigh.  

They kiss for the first time since her coronation. It’s filled with light pecks at first, gradually turning into longer tongue-filled kisses. She pulls back, catching her breath, and Mila grins at the familiar longing in the other woman’s eyes. “Let’s get you out of that stuffy dress first.” Mila impatiently pulls at the lace and strings of Sara’s dress and underclothes. “Unnecessary,” she growls at the corset as she pulls it off. Sara pulls her in for another kiss, cupping the empress’ face in her hands. She lets go of her lover’s lips and kisses wetly along Mila’s jaw.

Then the Italian is pushed onto the bed, Mila hovering over her before settling in between her thighs. She kisses down Sara’s throat before marking her near her collarbones. Sara breathes in slowly as Mila begins to touch her breasts, teeth grazing her sensitive nipples. Heat pools in her belly when Mila gently tugs at the nipple, and she lets out a quiet gasp. She can feel Mila’s affection for her through the now wet kisses on her chest. She rests her cheek against Sara’s beating chest, running a hand down the countess’ side soothingly.

Mila looks at her, “Are you doing all right?” Sara nods and Mila decides that it’s time to move on. She makes her way down to Sara’s stomach, kisses her upper thighs and avoids the place where Sara aches for her. Sara can feel her wetness growing steadily. She tries to rub her thighs together for some friction. Mila keeps her legs apart, “If you want something, you’ll have to ask for it.” Mila knows that she’s being cruel – she can almost taste Sara’s arousal.

“Please, Mila… ” she pleads; she hopes that it’s enough. Mila shakes her head. “Please, Mila. I want you so much, you don’t even realize. I love you.” Mila gives in and kisses her thighs again. Sara reaches to tangle her fingers in Mila’s hair. The hands in her hair grip tighter when Mila’s tongue slips between the folds of her wet cunt. Sara makes such sweet noises when Mila licks her clit and her legs shudder without fail each time. Mila orders Sara to wet her fingers and she enthusiastically sucks on the offered fingers. Once they’re wet enough, she begins to pump them in and out of Sara’s slick insides and speeds up when Sara gasps that she’s close.

She comes with her thighs wrapped around Mila’s head. The come dripping from her cunt tastes sweet and Mila happily laps it up as Sara rides out her orgasm.

When she’s finished, she pulls Mila up for a messy kiss, tasting herself. She sucks her own fingers and slides her hand between Mila’s thighs. Mila rests her head on Sara’s shoulder. She’s wet and dripping and Sara returns the favor by making Mila come as she fondles her breasts.  Mila realizes that she drooled on the woman’s shoulder. She blushes as Sara laughs. They lie down on the bed, both exhausted. “Good night, my love.” She yawns, cuddling Mila close. Her lover is warm and solid against her as she traces on Mila’s back to lull herself to sleep.

Sara is already dressed by the time Mila wakes up, “I’ve to go now – Michele might be looking for me.” She kisses the redhead goodbye. Mila yawns and stretches. She grins at the previous night’s events, but grimaces when she remembers the incidents before that. Yakov is going to kill her, even if she is his empress. She buries her face in her hands. “Why are those people so difficult?” she groans.

Dressed for a day out, Mila heads downstairs. She is filled with nostalgia when she remembers Father playing with her in the familiar corridors, letting her sit on his shoulders as he pretended to be her mighty steed. She gulps down her breakfast before heading toward the stables. Her trusted companion, a dapple-grey stallion, whinnies when he sees her. “Hello, old boy. Did you miss me?” They explore the forest near her home until about noon, when she sees the horse breathing heavily.

Yakov finds her in the kitchen. Viktor accompanies him but stays quiet while his father speaks. “Last night’s speech was quite rousing, Mila. For all the wrong reasons. The people under me are upset at your words and plans for this country. And I understand.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “I knew you should never have met with that Italian, or that French ambassador. We are Protestant, Mila, not at all like the Catholics.”

She rolls her eyes, “Yakov, that you of all people are not open to learning new things… ” He sighs, “Yes, open to learning; not throwing away the empire your father built – from the ground up – for a single religion.” Did Yakov not listen to a thing she said in her speech?

“We won’t be invaded because I suddenly talk to Catholics. I want this war to end, Yakov, and I want to end it as soon as possible.” And yes, maybe she thinks Catholicism has its own merit but that isn’t her only reason. The scholars in Rome have extensive knowledge on old Roman customs along with Latin; the French scholars have books full of philosophy and other ways to observe the world around them. She wants to meet and discuss everything that interests her with these men – her hunger for knowledge only grows to be insatiable as she herself grows.

“Don’t scold her, Father. Peace negotiations aren’t wrong or ignorant ... We just have to establish clear rules when setting up the treaty.” Viktor points out and she glances away. Yakov grumbles something about “those Italians” when leaving the room. “Thank you, Viktor. No-one else seems to understand.” Viktor stared at her for a few seconds, then cleared his throat, “You won’t send me to any front, right?” Viktor has always been kind to her, with no clear underlying ulterior motives, so she does not want any harm to come to him. “No, never.”

_ 1666 _

The war is finally nearing its end – Mila can feel it in her bones.  During the last three years she introduces Sara to Viktor, formally but unofficially, as her lover. Viktor was unfazed, as he has a male lover in one of the Eastern countries. They, mostly Sara and Mila, spend the days admiring artworks and old books. Viktor joins in sometimes, and then they leisurely sip on wine. She falls more in love with Sara, and she converts to Catholicism, unbeknownst to the chancellor or any other members of her court.

Mila takes great pleasure in reading her books to her lover. If Mila can speak the language, she reads it out loud; even if Sara cannot understand every word, she loves the way the syllables roll off her love’s tongue with a practiced grace. A reading of one of Mila’s Latin texts is interrupted by the chancellor. “Yakov?” She closes her book. “Your cousin has returned from the front lines.” She isn’t quite ready to face Georgi. He’s always had a certain expectation and she knows that she will not fulfill it. “Take me to him.”

The study is empty save for Georgi. “Your Majesty,” he greets with a bow. “You have grown even more beautiful these past few years.” She stifles the urge to strike him, instead smiling and thanking him for the compliment. “Now, I’ve been thinking for the last few months,” she stops, gauging his reaction. There’s a hopeful fire in his eyes. “You should be  _ tsar _ , Georgi.” He looks like he can’t believe his luck.

“Really, Mila? I mean, Your Majesty.” He wants to sweep her up in his arms but refrains from doing so. “I promise to be the best husband I can be to you, Your Majesty.” She pats his shoulder and replies, “The announcement will be in two days. Don’t be late, cousin.”

The usual faces stare at her: Yakov, Sara, Viktor and –  _ Mother _ ? The throne feels lumpy as her mother stares at her, face wrinkled and old. “Today, I have an announcement to make.” Georgi nods encouragingly next to her mother. “I will name Georgi Popovich my son, and heir to the throne.” As silence sweeps the room, Georgi panics, “Mila … !” She interrupts him, “My decision is final.”

She gets up and walks past a dumbfounded Georgi, “You wanted to be  _ tsar _ , right? Are you satisfied?” A hand grabs her arm tightly, “You are a disgrace to your father’s legacy! He was strong enough to rule his country … !” Her mother hisses and Mila tries to wrench herself free, “How dare you, Mother!” The woman grips her tighter, nails digging into her skin through the fabric of her dress. “I knew I was right when I threw you down those stairs! All of those sons I could have had for your father, and yet you were the only child to survive. A wretched girl!”

Tears well up in Mila’s eyes. Her mother hates her and has all this time. She sprints from the stifling room. “Mila!” She hears Sara’s concerned voice and runs faster. Yakov is the one to find her alone in the stables. He comforts her by putting a hand on her shoulder, but she clings to his robe and curls into his chest. “It’s difficult, with a mother like that.” He pats her head, “I’m sorry.” She sobs.

Yakov finds out that Mila is fleeing to Italy, only days later. The French ambassador came through with living arrangements in Rome after months’ waiting. Sara is with her, on her own horse, near the stables in the middle of the night. The chancellor cries out as he falls to his knees, “My Mila of Russia. I implore you to call upon your cleverness! I beseech you, in the name of our Lord! Save your Empire! _ ”  _  She looks straight ahead at the darkness of the forest, “It is too late for that, Yakov. Georgi is now my heir – he will be crowned once I am gone.” The two leave a bewildered Yakov behind —  _ how was he to explain this to the court _ ?

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on The Girl King (2015) and also (hopefully not too obviously) my first published nsfw piece.


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